


The Undone and the Divine

by scrapbullet



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Comment Fic, Confessional, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The confession booth is a welcome reprieve from the dark ruminations lurking in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undone and the Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt by the dear Clementine Starling; did I mention that you're a star for reigniting our tiny little niche of fandom? ;3

The confession booth is a welcome reprieve from the dark ruminations lurking in his head. Whilst not wholly devout -- what use is a benevolent, unseen God in their brave new world? What they need is a Godling, _a Lordling_ , of action! -- it is a soothing balm nonetheless, and so as Coward seats himself on velvet worn soft from the passing of many rumps, he calms himself, and speaks.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Wood slides back from the mesh panelling with a low hush of sound. There is only the barest hint of light from the sprawling church beyond the varnished walls and the merest impression of a broad man with aquiline nose, turned toward Coward as if in welcome. 

“And what, pray tell, is it that you have done, my child?”

Coward stills. Is it...? That voice... It is one that he knows all too well, and it haunts him. Its cadence sends shivers down his spine to pool in his gut as heady arousal, and he gasps in a sudden breath, shaken to the core. “I- I have thoughts of another,” Coward stammers. “Someone... not of the fairer sex.” 

His heart pounds in his chest, a quickening beat that threatens to burst right out of his chest. Logic would dictate that the man beyond is merely a man of religion awaiting to absolve the masses of their human sins, _but that voice_ , that bearing barely seen in the shadows... it is so very familiar!

The man hums, and nods his head. “Do you have these thoughts often?”

Coward swallows thickly, his throat inescapably dry. Where is the red wine when it is truly needed? “Y-yes, Father.”

“I see.”

Silence, then, but for the rustle of cloth. Clenching his hands so tight that the knuckles must surely turn white, Coward is so attuned to the priest on the other side that each motion, each slow, steady inhalation is torturous. He opens his mouth, to pray ask for absolution-

-but then the priest speaks, and Coward knows that his suspicion is reality.

“Lord Coward, do you think I am not privy to your gaze? It is so very heavy.” Lord Blackwood intones with amusement, his voice so low as to be a caress. “You are as brazen as any whore, and yet...” a laugh, _sotto voce_ , and a thumb presses against the wire mesh so close to Cowards quivering hand, “and yet, I am tantalised. You intrigue me, my little Lord.”

Good God! Blood rushes to Cowards’ cheeks as his heart thumps ever faster, air panting from him in sheer terror and embarrassed desire. “I-”

“No, no... _hush_. Do this one thing for me, and you will be forgiven, yes?”

An order phrased as a request is still an order, and Coward, though his palms are slick with sweat, cannot possibly say no. His murmur of affirmation is enough, though, for Blackwood to continue.

“Leave the booth, and return to your apartments. Undress, and prepare yourself for me, Nicholas, for I will not be gentle. I intend to make full use of your body until you scream for me.” A pause, wherein Coward scrambles to adjust the noticeable swell in his trousers. “ _Go, and be quick, lest I ravish you here._ ”

Coward stumbles from the booth, feverish with lust. In the quiet of the church he takes a moment, _just one_ , to calm himself enough, and, before Christ mounted on the cross, grips his stiff erection and squeezes.

It is a brief moment of pleasure, but only a promise of what is to come. 

“Amen,” he murmurs, and smiles.


End file.
